I contemplated how best celebrate a year of being Mrs Hungry One; a year of nesting, coping, cooking, travelling, and excess.
In the silver light of the moon the week before, I hatched a plan and started to look for some food.
On Monday we ate through one tomato risotto with chunks of chorizo, but were still hungry;
On Tuesday we ate through two pesto chicken salads, but were still hungry;
On Wednesday we ate through three pieces of pork fillet with apple and radicchio, but were still hungry,
On Thursday we ate through four fajitas with home made guacamole and beans but were still hungry.
On Friday night we went to Ottoman and ate five courses before a misguided venture to the theatre: there was citrus slicked dill sprinkled slabs of kingfish as cool as a dunk in a pond; a cheese stuffed zucchini flower with a light carapace of batter next to a severed finger of pastry bound lamb mince- glossy with pomegranate and funky with cumin;
slow braised wagyu which resigned to braidable threads when plundered with a fork. There was saffron rice and a tomato salad and three squat mounts of baklava, a scoop of pistachio icecream and turkish delight, squishy like fat baby cheeks and like being lost in a rose garden.
On Saturday we ate through one coffee each in bed (with perfectly textured milk), one roast chicken seeded mustard and celery panini (to share), one perfect salad of sliced tomato with snowflakes of maldon salt and a sousing of olive oil, one radicchio salad with aged balsamic vinegar,
a cassette of pork terrine with bitter lemon pickle, two glasses of Ross Hill Rose, one affogato and one slice of perfect, sinful Sopra banoffee pie.
The next was Chinese noodle restaurant where we sat on little stools, tucked in our elbows, marveled at the new grapes suspended from the ceiling and ate a platter of crispy pork and prawn- deep fried and sticky like sin,
and twelve pork and chive steamed dumplings that stuck together like siamese twins. Chinese noodle restaurant never costs more than $10 a head. You can even bring in your own beers; a Coopers Vintage for the Hungry One, a Coopers green for the Mrs.
The next was Sunday again and we ate through one nice cup of tea and made a fig pavlova to take to friends. We felt much better. We weren’t hungry any more, and we weren’t little any more.
We stayed in our small house that night and built a cocoon around ourselves; of good food, pink wine and thoughts of kind friends.
It’s now one year of being the very hungry ones together- and it’s a beautiful thing.
* Wisdom comes from many sources; The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle remains one of my favourite books.
What a beautiful post!
Lotsa love to the Hungry Ones xxx
i second Alice’s comment! What a lovely way to celebrate a year of marriage, and what a beautiful way to write about it!
Congratulations Mr & Mrs Hungry Ones!
Lots of Love Dxx